


Three Makes a Crowd (Or Does It?)

by Youremyalways



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But also kinda sweet, Dean is eighteen, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Guilty!John, Hurt!Sam, Hurt/Comfort, John is kinda a dick, Just read it lol, Physical hurt, Preseries, Sam Winchester Whump, Sam is fourteen, Vampires, Weechesters, also emotionally hurt dean, guilty!dean, protective!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youremyalways/pseuds/Youremyalways
Summary: Another fight isolates Sam from his family. After a hunt goes wrong, will it be too late to fix things?
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

There was a tornado wrecking havoc inside of Sam’s stomach as he sat down at the dinner table staring at his pizza. 

John was directly across from him, wiping greasy hands on his pant leg, and Dean was beside him on the left, shoveling two pieces down his throat at once. They were eating pretty much in silence, and Sam knew there was no better time than the present to bring up what was on his mind… but he was really fucking nervous. 

He wanted to tell his father and brother what happened today, but he was half scared to death that they would immediately dismiss him or regard his accomplishment as unimportant. He thought about how ridiculous it was that he had to debate so hard about whether or not to tell his family. Most normal people wouldn’t have to worry about how their parent and sibling would react to them making varsity soccer as a freshman. Most families would be proud. But Sam’s family… well, he just wasn’t sure. 

Still… he didn’t have a choice.

So, he looked down at his pizza and took a deep breath to calm his anxiety before announcing in one rushed breath, “I uh… I made the soccer team.”

There was a silence that followed and Sam finally looked up, seeing both Dean and dad staring at him with slightly confused faces. Dean dropped his pizza to the plate in front of him.

Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat and added with a nervous smile, “Varsity as a freshman. Pretty cool, right?”

He hoped he could will it to be true. He hoped that if he planted the seed that it was cool, they would come around. His heart was hammering in his chest as he looked at his father, who’s eyebrows were raised but the rest of his face was completely blank. Sam had no idea how he was supposed to read that look. Was it good or bad? He sat there waiting patiently for a response, but before he could even move another inch, there was a hand on his head rustling his hair around. He turned to look at Dean, who was grinning widely.

“You bet it is, kiddo!” He praised, making Sam smile shyly. Then he added a tease, “Which bench are you warming?” 

Sam reached across and hit his brother playfully in the shoulder, bragging, “I’m a starting forward, thank you very much!” 

Dean’s eyebrows raised even higher. He kept looking at his little brother and smiling. 

“Wow, starting forward. That’s really great, Sammy.” He nodded and pushed his lips out, making an impressed face. He reached across and patted Sam on the chest, “Congrats.” 

Sam tried to hide his smile, looking at his brother and announcing sincerely, “Thanks, Dean.” 

Dean just smiled softly and returned to eating his pizza. Sam went to pick up his own piece, glad he had made the announcement without an explosion occurring, but was interrupted by his father’s gruff voice. His eyes shot up to look at his dad when he started to speak. 

“Those running and hand-eye coordination skills will come in handy on a hunt.” He said monotonously, “That’s good, Sam.” 

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. He was expecting his dad to call it a waste of time or say it was unimportant. Sure, he only approved because he thought it was beneficial for hunting, but he still  _ approved _ . That was all that mattered. 

Sam cleared his throat before telling his dad, “Thanks.” 

John nodded before looking back down. Sam took a bite of his pizza, still elated by the positive responses. They were making him feel a little bold, actually. Maybe he could push it just a bit further… 

He put his pizza down and looked up at his family once again. He wiped his mouth with a napkin before speaking.

“My uh…” He stuttered a little, nervous he was pushing it too far, “My first game is Monday night. It’s less than two hours long. Maybe you guys could come? The other kids’ families are all going.”

He felt like he had just dropped a bomb and was waiting for it to explode. He stayed staring at his father, waiting for his response. His palms were sweating and his leg was bouncing on the floor. 

A few moments passed and then John was announcing without ever looking up, “Sam, we leave for Foxborough in the morning.” 

Sam’s heart stopped and his mouth went dry. He shook his head once, squinting his eyes in disbelief.

“We…” He paused, his throat starting to choke up all of a sudden, “What?”

Now John looked up, eyeing Sam as he announced, “Dean caught a lead, there’s a vamp nest killing people up North. We’re heading out at 6am sharp.” 

Sam’s jaw dropped and he looked over to Dean with wide eyes. Why was he only hearing about this now?! His brother was looking down at his lap, avoiding eye contact. Sam scoffed and looked back at his dad. 

“Well, can I stay behind?” He asked as nicely as he could, but it still came off as pleading, “Meet back up with you guys after? I just wanna play in one game,  _ please _ . I’ll even take a bus to meet you guys so you don’t have to come get me.” 

John just sighed before telling his son in a tone that allowed no argument, “Not gonna happen, Sam. You’re coming.”

And then all of Sam’s nervous energy erupted into a frustrated scream, “Why?!”

John glared daggers at him and raised his voice, “Because I’m your father and I said so!” 

Sam yelled out in disbelief, “Dad!” 

Dean flinched next to him, but Sam ignored it. He felt a chill go through his body when his father slammed a fist down on the table.

“Sam, you are not staying here by yourself!” He shouted, “That’s  _ final _ !” 

Sam bit down on his bottom lip in anger and frustration. He was a freshman in high school for Pete’s sake! He was completely capable of taking care of himself! Why couldn’t his dad see that? Why did he have such little faith in him? 

“I’m not six years old!” Sam yelled back, leaning in towards the table and closer to his father, “I’m fourteen! I can handle being by myself! You let Dean stay home alone when he was my age!”

John simply insisted, “Dean’s different.” 

Sam just shook his head in disbelief and questioned loudly and exasperatedly, “Why?!”

He expected an immediate, probably angry response, but his father just locked his jaw and remained silent. Sam huffed in annoyance and pushed, “Why is Dean different, dad? Say it.” 

“Guys, come on.” Dean spoke hesitantly, trying to stop the argument. 

John ignored him completely, leaning in towards Sam and gritting his teeth together before yelling, “Dean listens to me! He’s responsible! You are stubborn, and childish, and incapable of taking care of yourself!” 

Sam felt his stomach drop in disappointment and sadness, but the anger was too overwhelming to care. He yelled back, “I can take care of myself fine!”

John glared at him and waved a hand in the air as he shouted, “Sam, there’s no point in arguing!” 

But Sam was fucking  _ pissed _ , now. He was so sick and tired of being compared to Dean. He was so sick and tired of being seen as the immature one. He was so sick and tired of being underestimated, sidelined, and disregarded. He was just as important as Dean! 

“No, dad!” He yelled, standing up and slamming his fist down on the table as he glared at his father, now looking down upon him, “I’m so sorry I’m not your carbon clone. I’m so sorry I’m not your perfect little soldier. I’m so sorry you got stuck with  _ Sam  _ and not another perfect  _ Dean _ !” 

Dean looked up at him with worried, warning eyes and instructed tiredly, “Sam, stop it.” 

Halfway through Dean’s warning, John pointed at Sam and yelled harshly, “That’s enough out of you! What we do is important, Sam! It would be helpful to all of us if you could be a little more like your brother!” 

Sam felt his eyes burn with tears but he didn’t let them fall. He turned all the sadness into fuel for his anger. He clenched his teeth and shouted back, “Well, I’m not Dean! I never will be!” 

John tilted his head and shot back, “Don’t I know it.” 

Dean leaned into the table and placed his head in his hand, saying louder this time, “Come on, guys. Stop it.” 

A part of Sam felt bad, because he knew how much Dean hated being in the middle of their fights. A bigger part of him, however, was pissed at Dean for not standing up for him. Sam clenched his jaw as he watched his father turn to look at Dean. 

“No, I’d like to hear what you have to say about this, Dean.” He said stoically, his eyes still icy. He gestured to Sam and prompted, “Go on, tell your brother.” 

Dean tilted his head and sighed, “Dad.”

That one word encapsulated so much. Dean was begging his father to not make him do this. He was pleading with his father to just leave him out of this. 

But John remained stubborn. He raised his voice at his son and demanded, “I’m not letting anyone leave this table until you tell Sam what you think about him wanting to play soccer instead of hunting!” 

Sam turned to look at Dean, waiting patiently to see what he would do- what he would say. Situation reversed, Sam would take Dean’s side in a second flat. Surely it would be the same for Dean. Surely… 

Dean looked down and closed his eyes, speaking so quietly it was barely audible, “Sam… The hunt is important. We’re saving people’s lives. That comes before soccer.” 

Sam’s heart sank and some of his anger subsided into despair. He was outnumbered. The two people he loved more than anything in the world didn’t trust him. 

“Damn straight.” John agreed, looking away from Dean and back towards Sam. 

Sam felt his blood run cold when he saw Dean peer up at him. His eyes were slightly watery and he was frowning deeply. It was like he was apologizing through a look. That just made Sam mad. Dean should be strong enough to stand up for him in front of dad. He should care enough. He should love Sam enough to support him! But…  _ nothing _ . 

“You know, it surprises me that you don’t want to leave me behind.” Sam hissed like the words were poisonous, “Then you two could be perfectly happy together. Relieved of your burden of a son and brother.” 

“That’s not what we’re saying.” Dean argued, looking up at Sam and reprimanding, “Don’t be a drama queen.” 

Sam narrowed his brows at Dean and crossed his arms over his chest. He rolled his eyes and scoffed. Of course Dean was siding with their father. His perfect little soldier. The model son. 

“Quit it with the attitude!” John scolded, the anger visibly racing under his skin. 

Sam should stop. This was the time to pull back. Normally, he would. But, right now? He was too damn wound up. 

“It’s not like you’d even notice!” He screamed, “I could be killed right in front of your damn eyes and you wouldn’t even blink!” 

“Alright, enough!” John seethed, standing from his chair and slamming his fist down. He yelled the loudest Sam’s ever heard him, “We don’t joke about death in this family! We certainly don’t use it to garner pity and attention!”

Sam swallowed nervously, but didn’t back down. He looked down at the ground and mumbled, “It’s true.”

The sound of thundering footsteps came towards him and Sam looked up with fearful eyes just in time for his father to grab him by the shoulders and shove him forcefully into the wall. Sam’s shoulders bounced off the bricks and he winced.

“Ow!” He cried out as the pressure on his shoulders increased.

“Dad!” Dean yelled in shock, standing up and racing over to them. 

“Enough of this!” John yelled right in his face, practically spitting on him, “Get your head out of your ass, Samuel! You are not normal and you will never be normal! Get that through that thick skull of yours! Saving people’s lives matters more than what you want! The sooner you come to grips with that, the better! Now, you will get your ass to bed immediately and be ready to leave in the morning, am I understood?!” 

He slammed Sam further into the wall as he waited for an answer. Sam just whimpered.

“AM I UNDERSTOOD?” He screamed, digging his fingers harder into Sam’s shoulders. 

“Yes sir!” Sam cried out, desperate to be let go. 

And with that, his father released him and Sam crumpled into the wall, staying on his feet but crouching down to catch his breath. He stared up at Dean, whose eyes were wide and fearful. 

John turned back to look at him and commanded, “Go to bed.” 

Sam, suddenly scared for his life, stood straight up with a haunted expression in his eyes. He dropped his head down and walked out of the kitchen to his bedroom. He closed the door behind him and sat down on the edge of his bed. He wrapped his arms around himself in a self-hug, letting out a shaky breath when he felt his shoulders ache with the motion. He would definitely have bruises later. The tears were right on the surface, desperate to fall. His whole body ached and his head was throbbing. 

He would never be enough. He would never be Dean. His father would always compare him to his brother, and because of that, he would always be disappointed in him. He would never understand him. He would never care enough to. 

All he wanted was to be normal. He just wanted to make friends and play soccer. He wanted his family to cheer him on and watch as he scored a goal, as he ran, as he played. He wanted to make them  _ proud _ . 

Only now… now he was realizing he never would. He’d never make them proud- not with how he was. 

_ Knock, knock, knock. _

Sam closed his eyes and sighed, unwrapping his arms from around him and sitting more straight. He blinked back all the tears and swallowed around the lump in his throat. He didn’t say anything because he knew that whoever it was would just walk in anyway. And sure enough… 

The door swung open and Sam heard quiet footsteps come forward. He also heard the door close softly and then Dean’s soft whisper, “Hey.”

Sam clenched his jaw and asked tightly, “What do you want?”

Dean’s voice was closer to him and more concerned when he asked, “I wanted to see if you were okay.” 

Sam scoffed and jerked his head around, looking over his shoulder at his brother. He narrowed his eyes and asked rhetorically, “What do you think?”

Dean pursed his lips and sighed, “Okay, stupid question.” 

He then walked forward and took a seat on the bed beside Sam. He smiled softly and suggested hopefully, “But hey, maybe you can try out for the soccer team in Foxborough? I’d love to go to a game, then.” 

Sam looked away from him, staring at the patterned wallpaper. He said monotonously, “The season’s already started. Try-outs are over.” 

Dean’s shoulders sagged and he just responded with a disappointed, “Oh.”

“Wouldn’t matter anyway.” Sam told him, “I don’t wanna play anymore.”

Dean’s hand then landed on Sam’s thigh and Sam flinched at first before relaxing under the comforting touch. 

Dean spoke sincerely, “Sam, I’m sorry. I wish things were different. If it was up to me, you’d be staying here and kickin’ ball for a while. But you know how important what we do is.”

Sam sighed, looking up at Dean, “I know.” 

And then Dean smiled softly and added, “If it means anything, I know that you’re old enough and smart enough to stay here alone. Dad’s wrong. You aren’t incapable of taking care of yourself.” 

And that? That pissed Sam off. 

He wasn’t reassured by Dean’s words and he didn’t take comfort in knowing that his brother had faith in him. All he could think about was how angry it made him that Dean didn’t say that in the kitchen when dad was berating him. Dean just admitted that he was on Sam’s side the whole time. Yet, when their father asked for his opinion, he told Sam that dad was right. What the hell?

Sam clenched his jaw and asked, “Where was that attitude in there?” 

Dean sighed and looked down, “Arguing with dad doesn’t do any good, you know that. He’s stubborn as all hell, especially when he gets so frustrated. I can’t argue with him when he’s angry like that.”

Sam scoffed and crossed his arms. He narrowed his eyes and looked up at Dean, correcting, “You can argue with him. Don’t say you can’t, because that’s not true. You don’t  _ want _ to.”

Dean half rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Okay, you got me. I don’t want to.” He said impatiently before nudging Sam in the shoulder and adding, “And by the way, neither should you. He’s your father, Sam. A little respect for the guy wouldn’t kill you.” 

Sam flared his nostrils and said flatly, “He’s making me go on a hunt halfway across the country just to probably end up sitting in the car while you guys kill the thing. What’s the difference if I’m here?” 

Dean smiled slightly, his words teasing when he told Sam, “The difference is that we’ll miss your little whiny ass.” 

Sam elbowed him and growled, “Shut up, jerk.” 

“Bitch.” Dean tossed back immediately, on instinct. But then he exhaled and looked down at Sam, speaking sincerely, “Seriously though, dad will worry about you being back here by yourself. It’s just better if you’re close. I am sorry, though. Like I said, if it was up to me, you’d get to do all this geeky high school crap.” 

Again, those words just made Sam angry. He glared daggers at Dean and told him harshly, “You know what, Dean? This whole playing the middle thing is getting real old, real fast.”

Dean narrowed his brows in confusion and prompted, “What?”

Sam stood up and moved so he was in front of Dean, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down upon his older brother.

“Defending dad in the kitchen and then telling me the complete opposite behind closed doors.” He explained, making eye contact the whole time, “It can’t go on like this forever. You’re gonna have to pick a side eventually. Him or me.” 

Sam was hoping against all hope that that was an easy answer for his brother. Situation reversed, he would pick Dean over his father in a heartbeat. He loved his dad, but him and Dean… they had always been in it together. It was always the two of them against the world. Always. Sam hoped Dean felt the same way.

But, when Dean responded to Sam’s ultimatum, he simply argued, “That’s ridiculous, Sam. It’s between my dad and my brother, how the hell am I supposed to choose a side?” 

Sam’s stomach dropped and he looked down, feeling his throat start to clog up. He bit back the emotions, not wanting his brother to see how upset he was. Dean clearly didn’t love Sam as much as Sam loved him. If that was the case, the answer would’ve been easy. It wouldn’t be an impossible question. The more Sam thought about it, the more despaired and angry he became. If taking Sam’s side wasn’t obvious for him, well… 

“If it’s that hard to pick…” He started quietly, releasing his crossed arms so they hung by his sides, “I’ll make it easy for you. Side with him.”

His gaze was pointed downwards so he couldn’t see Dean’s reaction, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to be alone. So, he walked away from Dean and sat down at his desk, back to his brother. When he heard the sound of Dean standing up, he huffed, “Just go away and leave me alone.” 

“Sammy, come on.” Dean pleaded, approaching him from behind before stopping right beside him and continuing, “Don’t make this a big thing. Can’t you just apologize so we can all be civil again?” 

A chill went right up Sam’s spine and he immediately rounded on Dean, glaring at his brother in complete disbelief and betrayal.

“Apologize?!” He repeated incredulously, eyes bugging out of his head, “You want  _ me  _ to apologize to  _ him _ ? I don’t even…” 

Sam let out a shaky breath as he trailed off, not knowing what he could possibly say to get his point across. Didn’t Dean know that this wasn’t Sam’s fault? Did he even  _ care _ ? He also felt strongly that he shouldn’t have to explain to Dean why he was in the right. His brother should  _ know. _ Sam just wanted to be alone, now. He was on the verge of either exploding at Dean or crying his eyes out and he didn’t want his brother to see either. 

So, he just shook his head and looked down, whispering dejectedly, “I have studying to do, Dean.” 

Dean didn’t even acknowledge the fact that they were switching schools tomorrow and there was no possible way Sam had homework to do. He just took a step forward and sighed, “Sammy…”

Sam looked up, despising the feeling of hot tears burning his eyes. He didn’t let them fall, instead forcing anger into his tone to mask the sadness. He shouted, “Can’t you just leave me alone?!” 

Dean’s eyes widened and his open mouth slammed shut. He visibly swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. He wasn’t used to Sam screaming at  _ him  _ like this. Dad, sure. But… not Dean. 

“I…” Dean started in a stunned whisper, but he breathed out and seemed to think better of trying to defend himself. He looked down and nodded softly, “Okay.” 

And then he was walking out of the room slowly, shutting the door behind him gently and leaving Sam be. 

Sam immediately leaped onto his bed and curled up into himself, burying his head in his knees and letting his body shake as the first cry erupted out of his chest. He tried to stay quiet, muffling his sobs into his sleeve. He didn’t understand why it was so hard for Dean to stand up for him in front of their father. He preached on and on, over and over again, about how he would always protect Sam. How he would always be there for him. How he would die for him. And yet, when Sam was backed into a corner, Dean abandoned him. He chose their father, time and time again. 

Their father… John was so utterly disappointed in him. He hated Sam for all the things that made him different from Dean, and that meant he hated him for all the things that made Sam… well,  _ Sam.  _

His family sided against him. They didn’t care about what he desired. They just wanted a compliant little soldier. A Deanbot. A John Winchester Junior. Sam would never be enough for them, not the way he was. 

How are you supposed to feel about your father hating you for everything that differentiates you from his other son? 

Sam wasn’t wanted. Not if he wasn’t Dean. 

He felt himself shrinking, collapsing in upon himself like a burnt-out star. He wasn’t enough. No matter what he did… he wasn’t enough. He wasn’t Dean, and that meant he’d never be perfect. He’d never be what his father wanted. 

So who was he?

Or rather… who was he  _ supposed  _ to be?

——————

The only thing Sam registered when he first woke up was how much his back hurt. There was a sharp, aching pain at the base of his spine and all the way up his neck. He groaned and flicked his eyes open, licking his lips to unchap them. He blinked several times to clear his vision, trying to focus on where the hell he was and why he was sleeping sitting up. He grumbled as he looked around and cursed inwardly when he saw he was in the backseat of the impala. No wonder his back hurt, you don’t sleep in a damn car sitting straight up! He blinked a few more times and concentrated ahead of him, seeing Dean and dad in the front seats staring straight ahead, not noticing him.

“What the hell?” He muttered, clearing his throat.

Dean turned around and smiled, “Ah, look who’s finally joined the party.” 

Sam shifted in the seat and sighed, “What time is it?” 

Dean looked down at his watch before glancing back up at him and informing, “Just passed 10. We left the house around 6. Don’t worry, we got all your geek stuff.” 

“Just passed…” Sam trailed off, trying to wrap his head around it all, “Why didn't you wake me up?”

Dean’s grin faltered and he looked away from Sam’s face. Then his smile picked up again -though Sam could tell it was forced- and he said teasingly, “We tried, but you wouldn’t budge. You woulda slept through a bomb going off beside you.”

Sam shook his head, not believing that for a second, “That’s not true.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, dad was speaking.

“We didn’t have time for another tantrum about leaving that place. Better to leave you sleeping.” 

Sam exhaled loudly, abruptly. It felt like a blunt kick to the gut. His father -AND DEAN- left him sleeping so they wouldn’t have to deal with him being upset. They assumed he would protest and instead of addressing that, they took him and tossed him in the car without his knowing. That was  _ sick _ . And the protest was right on the tip of his tongue. The scream he was about to let loose on his father was right on the surface.

But then he met his fathers eyes in the rearview mirror and his anger dissipated completely. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach and bile crawled up his throat. Everything fucking hurt. He had realized last night as he was falling asleep that fighting with his father simply wasn’t worth it. It never did any good. All it did was remind him of how different he was than Dean, and that just fueled his father’s hatred of him. He had to step back and be more like his brother if he ever wanted his dad and brother to love and respect him. Only when that happened could he gain the leeway to be left alone. 

So, he took a deep breath and looked down at his lap, simply relenting by commenting quietly, “You’re right. It’s fine.”

Dean whipped his head around and shot Sam a confused, skeptical glance. His lips were drawn tight and eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched. He didn’t voice any of the concern written across his face, however, which Sam was grateful for. He didn’t want the attention drawn to him right now. Dean simply raised a brow before turning back around and looking at the road, shoulders more tense than before. 

His father’s eyebrows raised just slightly in the rearview mirror, but he kept his face neutral. He nodded minutely and simply commented in a gruff tone, “Good.”

Once they hit the highway,  _ Immigrant Song  _ by Led Zeppelin came on and Dean grinned widely, leaning forward and turning the volume way up. Dad smiled softly, too. Dean leaned back and started playing air guitar in his lap. Sam just rolled his eyes and leaned back, turning his head towards the window and watching the trees go by. After a solid thirty seconds, though, Dean turned back to look at him, wordlessly. Sam let him look for a few seconds before growing impatient. 

He turned to his brother with frustration and annoyance, snapping, “What?!”

Dean’s face scrunched up a bit and he looked skeptically at Sam’s face. 

“What, no complaining about how loud the music is?” He then paused and said in a mocking, deep tone, “How you ‘can’t even hear yourself think?’” 

Sam just huffed and turned to look back out the window, effectively tuning his brother out. 

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed even deeper and as he turned back around to face the front of the car, he mumbled, “Moody, much?” 

He turned the music up higher.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was worried about Sam. 

His little brother was normally the most talkative, overly cheerful yet simultaneously hyper-angry little shit he knew. He was always excited about this thing or that -making the soccer team being the most recent example- but then he had the shortest fuse of anybody other than their father. His mood changes from happy-go-lucky to angsty-teenager in a second- and it kept Dean on his toes on a regular freakin’ basis. But, ever since Evansville and the stupid thing with the soccer team… he was different. Resigned.

It was like their father telling him he couldn’t stay to play in that one game was an off switch to everything that made Sam… well,  _ Sam _ . He no longer fought with their father and he let Dean’s insults go without so much as a face. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, and even when he did, what he said was perfectly in line with what dad would’ve wanted out of him, anyway. He was like a damn soldier- only focused on duty. 

At first Dean thought it was just a stupid act to get their attention or pity, but the longer it went on, the more fear surfaced within him. What if they had really fucked up this time and Sam was trying to change himself for real? What if this was depression? Like…  _ legit  _ depression.

“Dean, you listening to me?” His dad’s voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts and Dean shook his head, brushing all his concerns about Sammy away. His little brother was just a kid, he would bounce back. He would be fine- he was  _ always  _ fine. So, he just sighed and looked up at his father, who was peering at him expectedly. 

“What?” He asked, clearing his throat.

John sighed in annoyance that he had to repeat himself, but nonetheless articulated, “You, me, and your brother are heading out in an hour to hunt this nest. Get yourself ready.”

Dean nodded and stood up from his chair, asserting, “Yes sir.”

He knew that step number one was going to Sam’s room and arguing with his brother until he finally gave in and got ready to go. So, he knocked on the door and waited for the groan of disapproval and the inevitable whining. 

Which is why he was shocked beyond belief when the door swung open immediately and Sam was standing there in front of him, fully clothed with his machete hanging from his waist in the fastened holter. Dean was left speechless. Sam was never ready  _ before  _ him. He never got ready for a hunt without having to be badgered to death first. God _ ,  _ this was weird.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Sam suddenly snipped and only then did Dean realize he was staring at his brother like a fish out of water. 

“Uh…” Dean stuttered, dropping his gaze away from Sam’s face and reaching up to rub at the back of his neck in an embarrassed gesture, “Sorry.”

Sam rolled his eyes and brushed past his older brother, adjusting his belt as he did so. Dean jerked his head around and watched Sam walk the rest of the way to the kitchen table, taking a seat and pulling his machete out. He then picked up the coffee mug sitting on the center of the table and flipped it upside down. He began running the machete along the rough bottom, sharpening the blade. Dean’s eyes widened even further and he looked over to his father, who met his eyes and looked just about as close to surprised as John Winchester got. But then his father shrugged and Dean shook his head, huffing a breath of disbelief before turning around and walking into his and Sam’s room, closing the door behind him so he could change. 

He pulled on his jeans, flannel, and jacket. Followed closely by his boots and his own machete holter. He slid the blade in nice and snug before running a hand through his hair and walking out of the bedroom. Sam was still sitting at the table sharpening his blade and John was walking in and out of the door, actively packing the car. 

“Sammy, you keep doing that, you’ll ruin the blade.” Dean offered, just trying to get a rise out of his little brother. He was trying everything these days.

But Sam just sighed “I was done, anyway,” and flipped the mug right-side-up, taking the machete and sliding it back into the holster on his hip.

Dean took a step towards him and swallowed nervously. He sat down on the chair across from his brother and leaned forward. 

“You okay?” He asked, keeping a soft and welcoming look on his face so Sam knew he was free to tell the truth. 

Sam looked up with a blank expression, eyes cold and lips pressed tightly together. Before his brother could respond, however, their dad was barreling in the door 

“Alright boys, in the car!” He commanded before walking back out, “Last one out locks the door.”

Sam rose from his chair and walked right out the door, leaving Dean to lock it behind him. They approached the car and Dean waited with dread for the inevitable argument that would ensue about who got to sit in the front seat. It had always been Dean, but now Sam was at the age where he consistently bitched about being forced into the back. ‘It should be Dean’s turn every once in a while,’ he’d complain. 

But this time? Sam walked straight to the backseat and closed the door behind him, not even so much as glancing at the passenger’s side door. Dean huffed a surprised breath, but got in the car and closed the door behind him regardless. Their dad grunted and pulled out of the driveway, steering onto the road.

“Alright, going over the plan.” He cleared his throat, “I go in the front, create a distraction and take on the majority. Both of you are going to go in through the back to take down any stragglers. Then we’ll meet in the middle. Sam, you are to tail Dean and watch his back. You are to stay at a distance. I don’t want you going in there all headstrong and cocky. You are back-up, nothing more. Do you understand?”

Sam and Dean agreed simultaneously, “Yes sir.”

Dean turned to look at Sam in the backseat, raising a solitary brow. No bitching about being treated like a kid or an invalid? His little brother was just staring out the window, oblivious to Dean’s concern. So, he took a deep breath and turned to look forward, watching the road get swept under the impala’s perfect wheels. 

The silence made the ride feel impossibly long. It seemed like they hit every red light and every tiny divot in the road. It was awful, and awkward, and painful. 

So much so Dean practically jumped out of the car before it was stopped when they reached their location. He let out a deep breath as his father got out of his own side, Sam following suit. They walked around to the trunk and started getting the supplies ready. Machetes in hand, John turned to his boys.

“Repeat the plan back to me. Now.”

“Sam and I-” 

Before Dean could finish, Sam cut in louder, crossing his arms and reciting, “You’re going in the front and taking on the majority. Dean and I are going in through the back. I’m nothing more than back-up and should stay out of the way. We got it.” 

John raised a brow, “Good. I don’t like this attitude of yours, but good. Meet back at the car when it’s clear, understand?”

“Yes sir.” Dean and Sam answered simultaneously. 

John gave a curt nod and then he was closing the trunk and marching up to the front. Dean swallowed and fastened his own machete in his belt before turning to look at Sam. For all of his little brother’s remarks and his go-with-the-flow attitude lately, Sammy looked nervous. His hands were shaking slightly and his face looked pale.

“Sammy, listen.” Dean sighed, coming around to the front of Sam. He placed a hand on his shoulder and made eye contact with his little brother, “I know you’re still upset that we had to leave Evansville, but I need you on the top of your game, here. There is a pack of vamps in there, and they’re dangerous. Lethal, if we aren’t careful. You need to take all of the crap you're feeling and stick it in a big fat box in the corner of your mind. Focusing on the hunt is the most important thing. I have your back, and nothing bad will happen to you. I promise. But, you need to be focused and stay alert. You understand me?”

Sam let out a long, sort of frustrated breath, but nodded, knowing that Dean was right. He locked his jaw and sighed, “Yeah, Dean, I got it.”

Dean wasn’t overly convinced. But, he just licked his lips and shifted back over to Sam’s side. They walked the rest of the way up to the back door and once they reached it, Dean looked down at Sam one more time. 

“Hey, you and me, right?” He smiled hopefully, squeezing Sam’s shoulder, “We’re in this together.” 

Sam looked at Dean almost completely apathetically and agreed quietly, “I guess.” 

He took his machete out of the holster and held it up at arm's length, waiting for his brother to swing the door open. Dean stared at him for another moment before breathing out and raising his own machete. Then he reached for the doorknob, swung the door open, and raced in guns blazing. Sam followed right behind him, watching his flank without being in direct danger. 

Four vamps immediately turned and looked at them, flashing their fangs before running forward. Dean ran straight at the guy in the front, machete swinging high and precisely. Two ran past him towards Sam, but he couldn’t focus on them when he was busy with the two in front of him. He heard a slicing sound and a thud and figured Sam must be doing okay. Dean quickly beheaded the monster in front of him before turning to the other and giving it the same treatment. Then he whipped around to help Sammy.

The world slowed down to a second-by-second frame. 

Dean heard the thump of a body falling beside him but all he could see was the vampire coming up behind Sam and spinning his brother around like a goddamn ragdoll. Sam’s head jerked around and Dean froze as he watched the monster raise a razor sharp knife towards his brother’s torso. 

Dean’s eyes widened and he screamed in terror, “Sam!”

Before he could so much as move, the vamp’s blade was being thrust forward and Sam was simultaneously swinging his own machete to slice its head off. The clang of the knife hitting the concrete came along with the dull thud of the vamps head hitting the ground. Dean didn’t have a second to check if his brother was hurt- another two vamps were suddenly sprinting out of the doorway, towards him. He growled and took position, getting into the correct stance and clutching the handle of his machete.

He lunged at the first vamp and started swinging for its neck just as he saw Sam move out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t look at his brother, but he shouted, “Sammy, you hit?!”

“He missed!” Sam called back, already making his way towards the second vamp that snuck in. Dean sighed in relief as he swung his blade and sliced the head of the monster in front of him clean off. 

He smiled wickedly and turned just in time to see Sammy give the same treatment to the smallest vampire. The thing must’ve been barely 18 years old. 

He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and turned his back to Sam, looking down at the bodies beneath him and sighing. This was going to be a  _ total  _ bitch. 

“Alright, pile the bodies up quick so we can go find dad.” Dean called to Sam, not turning back to look at him. He reached down to grab onto the first of the vamp bodies, “Bring ‘em over here so we can stack ‘em up. These suckers are gonna go up in flames.”

Dean grimaced as he slid his hands underneath the long body on the ground next to him to get a good enough grip on the flesh to carry it. He started to lift and felt his biceps bulging with the effort. He really needed to start lifting more weights… 

“Dean?” Sam asked suddenly, his voice soft and a little breathy. 

Dean kept lifting, too deep in it to stop now. As he hoisted the body up into his arms, he asked, “What?”

He dropped the body on top of one of the others, already walking over to another and picking that one up too. His back was still turned away from his little brother.

In a slightly shaky voice, Sam announced quietly, “I don’t feel well.” 

Dean swallowed. Sam was still having a tough time with all the blood and gore of hunting. That hadn’t come as a shock to John nor Dean. The kid was more squemish than they ever were. Dean could understand getting a little sick after watching a vamp’s head go tumbling off its body (though, Sammy would have to get over it, soon. He was a hunter, afterall), but they were  _ almost _ done. Sam just had to hold out for a few more minutes. 

“Walk it off,” Dean told him. That’s what John would have said, too. He added as thoughtfully as he could, “We’ll be out of here soon.”

No reply, so Dean kept on stacking up bodies. It wasn’t until the last body was on the pile that Dean realized Sam hadn’t added anything to the stack. Actually… he hadn’t moved  _ at all _ . Dean furrowed his eyebrows and turned to look at his brother.

“Sam?” He asked in confusion, taking a step towards him. 

His brother was ghostly pale and Dean’s whole body froze as he followed Sam’s downcast gaze to his torso. His little brother was holding a shaky hand to the right side of his abdomen, and there was dark red blood seeping between his fingers. Sam slowly pulled his hand away in a supine position and gasped when he saw that the dark substance was coating the entire surface area of his palm and dripping. He looked up with frightened eyes and whimpered, “Dean.”

Dean’s world stopped turning. He sprinted forward and grabbed onto Sam’s shoulders, steadying him. He looked down with wide, panicked eyes and felt nausea flood his body at the amount of blood already soaking through Sam’s shirt. 

“Dean?” Sam whispered one more time, almost in a question, before his knees buckled and he started to fall. Dean instinctively reached out and caught him by the armpits so he could gently lower him to the concrete. Sam was ghostly pale, his lips tinged with ruby blood and dark bags under his eyes. 

Dean could hear his own heart pounding in his ears as he quickly reached down with shaky hands and started removing Sam’s flannel. He had to consciously control his breathing to keep the panic away. Undoing the buttons took several tries because his hands were shaking so badly. His hands were already coated in blood just from touching the fabric. Not a good sign. Dean almost whimpered as he pulled the shirt out of the way and looked at the wound unobstructed. His breath caught in his throat. 

It was probably two inches across, but it was  _ deep _ . Blood kept oozing and the location was just plain scary. There were too many important things around the lower right abdomen. Too many. Dean had never seen an injury this bad, this bloody, this  _ lethal _ . It looked like something out of a rated R war movie. He was only eighteen, how the hell was he supposed to fix this?! 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He yelled in panic as he examined the wound. His eyes then skirted up and he realized something very important - this wasn’t just some injury. This was  _ Sammy _ . So, he took a breath and calmed himself down.

“Okay, okay.” He looked Sam in the eye and gave him a tight smile, “I’ve got this, don’t worry.” 

He pushed his fingers next to the top of the wound and Sam practically sobbed, his whole body jerking.

“Stay still!” Dean snapped at him, not wanting to risk any further damage. His brain was still racing with  _ what the fuck do I do? _ He needed his dad. Dad would know what to do. 

“It hurts.” Sam whimpered after a moment, a tear slipping down the side of his face. Dean felt his heart clench.

“I know, kiddo, I know.” He whispered as he stared down at the gaping wound. It looked so bad. So fucking bad. Dean was freaking out, “Shit, Sam!”

He ran a hand over his face and tried to get his heartrate down by breathing. Panicking wasn’t helping anything. He looked at Sam’s face and met his brother’s eyes. 

Bad idea. 

Sam’s face immediately crumpled. Damn the kid for being able to read Dean’s expressions so well. He tilted his head just barely and groaned out, blood pouring from his lips, “Oh God… it’s really bad isn’t it? It’s really bad!” 

Every logical part of Dean said  _ yeah, it’s really bad! _ But every instinct instilled in him since his birth screamed  _ must protect Sam. _ So… he lied.

“Sh, sh.” He whispered, even though his eyes were filling with tears, “It’s not, Sammy. It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine.”

Dean closed his eyes and thought for a moment. He needed to stop the blood flow. Clot the wound. So, he reached up and pulled his jacket off, throwing it to the ground before yanking his tee shirt off and balling it up. He grimaced as he pressed the fabric to Sam’s wound, knowing how much it would hurt.

As the pressure increased, Sam screamed out, “Dean!”

Dean winced in sympathy, not even feeling the cold air hitting his now nude upper body. His entire body was thrumming with electricity. He was only  _ eighteen _ , and he was the only thing keeping his baby brother alive. He wanted his dad!

The pressure on Sam’s wound and the pain it instilled must have reenergized Sam a bit because now he was staring up at Dean and begging, “Dean, I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!”

“Hey, you ARE NOT dying!” Dean yelled back immediately, every single cell in his body lit aflame by that suggestion, “You’re gonna be fine!” 

And then Dean looked up with panicked eyes and screamed as loud as he could, “DAD!”

Sam continued to cry. He yelled again, spit and blood dripping from his mouth and creating little pink bubbles at the corner of his lips, “Dean… please!”

“Hang on, you’re okay!” Dean insisted as he dropped his head back down, scared out of his damn mind but needing to keep composed for Sam’s sake, “Big brother’s got you, alright? Just stay with me, kiddo, stay with me.”

Sam closed his eyes tightly and several tears fell down his cheeks. He whimpered, “I’m scared.” 

“I know.” Dean nodded, blinking back his own tears. He reached down with a shaky, blood-covered hand and grabbed the cell-phone out of his pocket, “I know. It’s okay, come on, now!” 

His dad hadn’t run in yet and Sam was bleeding so heavily… Dean didn’t have a choice. He dialed 911 and quickly dropped his phone to the ground, continuing to press his tee shirt into Sam’s wound and ignoring the pained whimpers falling from his lips.

_ “911, what’s your emergency?”  _

“It’s my little brother. He’s hurt really bad and he’s bleeding fast!” Dean announced, no longer able to hide the panic from his voice. It was like saying it out loud made it so much more real, “It’s a stab wound. We need an ambulance now! 94 Monroe Street!”

_ “Okay, a team is headed your way. Keep pressure on the wound and try to keep your brother awake and warm.” _

Dean stared down at Sam’s pale face and screamed, “Hurry!” 

He hung up and hit the phone out of the way, leaning forward and placing more weight on the wound. He reached up and wiped the sweat from Sam’s forehead.

“Okay, okay.” He breathed out, “Help is on its way. You’re gonna be okay.”

Dean pushed his fingers down even more, needing to keep pressure on the wound. Sam whined, “Dean… hurts.” 

“I’m sorry, I have to.” Dean told him, eyebrows furrowed in sympathy and remorse. He swallowed before repeating softly, “I have to.”

He then thought of the other thing the lady on the phone said- about keeping him warm. He reached for the coat he disregarded earlier and gently lifted Sam’s upper body to get it wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Ow!” Sam screeched at the jarring movement, eyes squeezing shut and lips quivering.

“I’m sorry,” Dean full-on cried now, unable to hide the fear, “I’m so sorry.”

God, every single one of his worst fears was becoming true. Sammy, hurt on his watch. His father not around to help. Too much blood loss… 

“Okay.” He breathed out as he tucked the jacket around Sam’s arms, keeping him warm, “Here. Better?”

Sam just whimpered and eventually cried, “I want dad.” 

Dean squeezed his eyes shut tight and all he could think was  _ me too _ . 

“He’s not here right now, but I am, okay?” He assured, leaning forward so his face hovered over Sam’s, “Just focus on that. Focus on me.” 

Dean pushed his hand down further on the wound, making little noises of comfort to soothe his brother the best he could. The smell of fresh blood made him nauseous.

Sam made a gurgling sound as he swallowed and then he tilted his head towards Dean and exhaled like breathing was the hardest thing in the world, “Promise… promise you won’t leave me.” 

Dean’s whole body lit fire. He set his jaw and asserted, “I’ll never,  _ ever _ leave you. We’re in this together, remember?” 

He turned his head to see the pile of bodies on the floor next to them and shook his head. Pick your battles. They would make up a story later. Right now was about Sam.

Sam- whose lip quivered as he whispered, “De…”

“What?” Dean asked, whipping his head back around and making eye contact no matter how hard it was, “What is it, kiddo?”

Sam took in a staccato breath and let out in a long exhale, “Thank you… for always…”

Dean's stomach dipped as he realized what was happening. He shook his head and groaned through gritted teeth, “Sammy, stop it.” 

“Always…” Sam continued regardless, sounding like he’d just finished running a marathon, “Being there for me.”

Sam was giving him the dead man speech and Dean would  _ not  _ tolerate that! Not today. Not from his fourteen year old brother who didn’t even want to hunt in the first place! He wasn’t losing Sam before the kid even hit puberty. No fucking way. He was too young. Too fresh. Too innocent. It should’ve been Dean biting the dust, not Sam… his baby brother, his Sammy. It was his job to protect him, and damn him to hell if he let Sammy die! He couldn’t lose someone else, not after mom. He especially couldn’t lose  _ Sam _ . It would completely break him. Nevermind his father. 

“Stop!” Dean yelled, “Stop it, you are not dying!”

Sam’s lips upturned in a tiny smirk and he closed his eyes as he exhaled softly, “Love you.”

“Sam?!” Dean yelled, shaking his brother’s shoulders to get him to wake up. Nothing, he barely moved. Dean’s throat clogged and he cried out, “Sam, come on! You are  _ not  _ dying on me! Not now, not ever!”

Sam was  _ fourteen _ ! This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

“I die before you!” Dean yelled, “You hear me?! You don’t get to check out before I do!”

Still no response and Dean sobbed out, “Sam!”

His brother was so cold, skin pale and clammy. Dean ducked his head down and whimpered, “Please don’t leave me.” 

He couldn’t do this without Sam. He didn’t want to do this without Sam. And he was supposed to stop this from happening! He was supposed to keep his brother safe! He  _ failed _ .

“I’m supposed to protect you.” He whimpered, “Please…” 

Before he could get another word out, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He jerked his head up and saw as his father ran into the room. John’s eyes visibly widened upon entrance and he shouted, “Sam?!”

He ran forward and dropped his duffle to the ground before landing on his knees on the opposite side of Sam as Dean. He saw Sam’s pale face, the blood, his closed eyes… his gaze shot up to Dean and he yelled in panic.

“What the hell happened?!” 

Dean stuttered out, still in utter panic mode, “There… there was a vamp… it stabbed him! Dad, it’s not good!”

John clenched his jaw and nodded, reaching across to grab Dean’s shoulder, “Okay, we’ll take care of him. Dean, I need you focused!”

Dean nodded rapidly, looking between his father and brother with watery eyes. 

John shifted his body weight and moved his hands to Sam’s back, “We need to get him out of here.” 

Dean was about to reply, but was interrupted immediately by the sound of sirens approaching. 

“You called the police?!” John questioned loudly.

Dean jumped when he heard the sound of a car-door slam shut and then looked down, squeezing his eyes closed and pressing his hand further onto Sam’s gut. 

“911!” He heard a woman shout loudly from right outside the barn.

“In here!” He yelled immediately, bringing his head up when he heard footsteps come running in from the door. 

Three men and a woman came running forward with a backboard in hand and equipment in their hands.

“Help him, please!” Dean shouted, looking between their faces and Sam’s pale cheeks. He was blatantly ignoring his father at this point.

“How old is he?” The woman asked as she knelt down beside them and peeled Sam’s eyelid back, shining a light in his eye and watching his pupil response.

Dean was shocked to hear the crack in his dad’s voice when he told the woman, “He’s only fourteen.” 

“Okay.” The paramedic hit a button on her walkie and started speaking, “Male, fourteen years old. He’s in shock from external bleeding. We’ll be pulling into Saint Agnus in T minus 5 minutes.”

Dean leaned in towards Sam when he saw his eyes flicker, “Sammy? You with us?” 

“Son, please step back and let the paramedics do their job.” A man came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder and trying to draw him away.

“No, no!” Dean yelled, “I’m his big brother, I’m supposed to look out for him!”

Then John was grabbing him and yanking him away, “Hey! Son, look at me! You can help him by letting them help, okay? They will give him his best chance.”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and watched with fearful eyes as the paramedics lifted Sam’s limp body onto a backboard. He whimpered, “Sammy…”

The female paramedic looked at John and announced, “One of you can ride in the front of the ambulance.”

Dean brushed right past his father, “Me!”

John nodded reluctantly, “My son can go with him.”

The paramedic nodded and then she grabbed Dean by the wrist and pulled him along with her, following the men carrying Sam on the backboard. Dean lost track of where his father went as he climbed into the ambulance next to the driver, but he didn’t care. He sat there the entire drive just counting the seconds and staring at the blood covering his hands and still-bare torso. His lips were chapped and his stomach was in knots.

It took 276 seconds to reach the hospital. 

398 to get Sammy into the Operating room.

1005 until Dean was sitting alone in a painfully white waiting room wrapped in a crappy hospital blanket, hands clear of his little brother’s blood. 1005 seconds. Not even twenty minutes. That was all it took for his life to change forever. He had no clue where his father was and his brother was in the operating room fighting for his life. Dean felt more alone than he ever had in his entire life. He also felt more afraid than he had ever been. Sam was  _ fourteen _ . He shouldn’t ever have to experience things like this. He shouldn’t have to be scared of dying from blood loss or a stab wound. He was supposed to be at a soccer game, for Christ’s sake!

Dean should’ve fought harder against his father. He should’ve defended Sam. Then he’d be sitting in aluminum stands cheering Sammy on rather than sitting outside while he was being sliced open by doctors. His head was pounding.  _ This is all his fault _ .

Tears started welling in his eyes and, on pure instinct, he reached for his phone and dialed his father’s number. Straight to voicemail. He whimpered a bit and then hit the fourth number on speed dial (right after John, Sam, and Pastor Jim).

“Agent Cardoso. What can I do ya for?” Answered a gruff voice on the third ring.

Dean closed his eyes and whispered, “Uncle Bobby, it’s Dean.”

“Dean Winchester, no kidding!” Bobby half-shouted. He sounded excited, if not a bit surprised, “How are you doing, son?”

Dean leaned forward so his forearms rested on his knees, lip quivering as he spoke, “Bobby, Sam is hurt really bad.” His voice cracked as his throat clogged. He finished, voice thin and breathy, “There was a lot of blood. I don’t… I don’t know if he’ll…” 

Bobby audibly sighed into the phone. His tone was deadly serious when he prompted, “What happened?” 

Dean cleared his throat and rested his forehead in his open palm, “A vampire we were hunting stabbed him in the gut. I should have seen it, I should’ve stopped it.” He stopped to keep the emotions back for a moment before finishing, “But I didn’t, and now Sam is in the emergency room and may not make it out.”

“This is not your fault, Dean.” Bobby said immediately, “You boys are hunters, this kind of thing happens. And as for Sam…” He sighed, “That little brother of yours is stubborn and tough as nails. He’ll pull through.”

Dean just breathed out and shook his head. There was a time when he believed that, too. But something about watching someone bleed out and slowly slip away makes them seem a little less invincible. 

“Where’s your daddy?” Bobby asked, taking Dean’s silence as his cue. 

“I don’t know.” Dean swallowed, bouncing his foot on the ground, “He was there when they put Sammy in the ambulance, but I haven’t seen him since.” 

“Did you call him?”

“Yeah. Voicemail. It’s just us.” 

There was a pause and then a firm, “Like hell. Where are you boys?”

Dean had to think for a second before answering, “Burlington, Vermont.”

“I’ll be there in a day.” Bobby told him, “Hang in there, okay? Stay strong for your brother. He needs you.”

Dean nodded and whispered, voice still weak, “Yes sir.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye.”

Dean shut the phone off and dropped it into his lap. He stared up the ceiling and started counting again.

When he hit 4000 seconds, he decided the game was tedious and put it aside. Instead, he started pacing. That got old after a little while too. 

Badgering the nurses only got him dirty glares and a whole lot of attitude. Staring at the vending machine made him nauseous. So did thinking about Sam.

He couldn’t bring himself to daydream about music, or movies, or girls. 

He tried to call John three more times to no avail, and was starting to feel his sadness and fear morph into something far more dangerous: anger.

Dean  _ fumed  _ as he thought about the fact that Sammy was in critical condition in the hospital and his father wasn’t  _ here _ . If Sam died on that table today, his father would  _ miss it.  _ Yeah… that pissed Dean off. A whole fucking lot.

John was the one that made Sam come in the first place. He was the one that slammed Sam against the wall and yelled at him. He’s the one that made Dean’s little brother feel unwanted and not good enough. He was the one that made Dean feel like he had to go against his brother. 

Dean was so used to blindly following his father. The perfect little soldier.

But, now? Now, he’s found his line.

_ Nothing  _ is worth feeling like this again. Nothing is worth losing Sam.  _ Nothing _ . 

He started pacing again, needing to work off the nerves. Three hours passed with no news, no calls, no nothing. Just thinking, and pacing, and sweating bullets due to anxiety. Another forty-six seconds before someone else walked into the waiting room. 

Dean clenched his jaw and sat straight up when he recognized his father. John tossed a sweatshirt at him, “Here.”

Dean should probably be thankful. But instead… 

“Your son’s in the hospital and you stopped at home to pick up a fucking sweatshirt?” 

John’s eyes widened and he locked his jaw. He sat down across from Dean and growled out, “You better watch that mouth, boy. You want to go in to see your brother half naked, be my guest.”

Dean just huffed a breath and crossed his arms, “Where the hell were you, dad? Sammy could be dead by now and you wouldn’t have been here!”

John stood up so he was towering over Dean and snapped, “You think I don’t know that?! I was out there cleaning up your damn mess, Dean!”

Dean reacted like he’d been shot, cowering in his chair a bit and whispered out in shock, “What?”

John shook his head in disbelief and continued, “The police had some questions about the pile of decapitated bodies laying next to you guys in the barn. Shocking, I know! I didn’t want to go to prison, do you?!”

Dean swallowed, feeling intense waves of guilt and embarrassment twist in his gut. He looked down at his lap and whispered softly, voice thick and strained, “I’m sorry. I’m just scared.”

John’s whole body deflated as he breathed out. He slowly sat back down and sighed, features softening as he looked at his eldest. He told him quietly, “I know.”

Dean nodded rapidly, eyes still cast downward. He felt all the fear and worry bubbling up and he blinked back the tears desperate to fall. He let out in a strained, hitched breath, “Dad, I’m so sorry.”

John furrowed his eyebrows, “For what?”

Dean looked up, vision blurry and throat constricting, “I failed. I was supposed to protect him, I was supposed to stop him from getting hurt.” He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and several tears fell, “I’m so sorry, dad, I failed!”

John was up and out of his chair in a second. He fell to his knees in front of his son and grabbed his forearm, squeezing gently, “Dean, it wasn’t your fault. The job is dangerous, you know that. Sam wasn’t supposed to go ahead. He was supposed to be back up. I need you to calm down.”

Dean shook his head rapidly and looked into his father’s eyes, pleading, “Dad, you can’t blame him. Please.  _ Please _ . It wasn’t his fault. It was mine.”

“Dean.” John sighed, reaching up and pulling his son into his arms, “I’m not mad at either of you. I am not happy with the results, and there will sure as hell be a lesson coming out of this, but I am not mad. It wasn’t preventable.” And then he paused and tilted his head a bit, raising a brow, “Was it?”

“No!” Dean answered immediately.

John nodded, “Good.”

Then he pulled away from the hug and moved back to his seat. He eyed Dean up and down before crossing his arms and asserting, “Now put that sweatshirt on and make yourself presentable. Seeing you like this will freak the living hell out of Sam.”

Dean nodded and did as told, sliding the blanket off of his shoulders and pulling the sweatshirt on in its place. He leaned back against the chair and started, once again, counting the seconds.

The only update they got all night was that Sam was still alive and in critical condition. He was in and out of the operating room, surgery after surgery. Numerous blood transfusions. Way too many close calls.

It wasn’t until eight in the morning the following day that they finally got something real. Some middle-aged guy who introduced himself as Doctor Jenner walked up to the two of them, a weary look on his face.

“Samuel’s stomach was ripped open and the blade of the knife skimmed his kidney. Several surgeries were able to close up the internal damage. We are most concerned with the intense and sudden blood loss. We have given him more blood through transfusion, but his body went through an incredible trauma. Because of that, Sam is still in critical condition.” Jenner said solemnly, holding a clipboard tight to his chest, “Now, he is young and I have every reason to believe that he can make a full recovery. But, things can happen. The human body is only capable of so much. The next 48 hours will be crucial.”

“Can we see him?” John asked immediately, while Dean hung by his side, digesting all of the information.

The doctor nodded, “He’s in the ICU. Follow me.”

The two of them practically walked in the Doctor’s footsteps the whole way to the ICU. Dean’s heart was pounding and his armpits were uncomfortably damp. The nerves were coming off of him in waves. He didn’t know if he could handle this. In fact, he was pretty certain he couldn’t.

Which is why he paused right outside the door when the doctor opened it. He froze before he could enter, gaze pointed downward.

“Dean?” John questioned, “You coming?”

Dean swallowed and hesitated for another moment. He remembered he was supposed to be the brave one. He was supposed to be the belligerent one. The badass. The no-chick-flicks-allowed guy.

So, he locked his jaw and looked up, walking straight into the room with his father and the doctor tailing him.

His jaw dropped to the floor and he felt all of the color drain from his face when his eyes landed on Sammy. His baby brother… 

Way too many tubes. Way too pale. Way too small. Way too… not Sam.

He didn’t even recognize this kid. This small, frail, broken child lying in bed hiding under his brother’s hair. He looked practically skeletal, face and what was exposed of his neck so bony and white the skin was almost translucent. Dean felt John’s large hand land on his shoulder and squeeze hard.

“I know it looks scary, but it’s all there to help.” The doctor told them, “I’ll leave you be, but the call button is just to the right there should you need anything. Have a good day, gentlemen.”

“Thank you, doctor.” John replied in an authoritative tone. The doc nodded curtly before walking out and closing the door behind him.

Dean practically ran forward to the edge of Sam’s bed. He just needed something to hold onto. Something that made him sure this was Sam. Just one thing. That would be enough. His eyes searched up and down the unconscious body lying before him. Unfamiliar blankets, unfamiliar skin, unfamiliar clothes, unfamiliar tubes, unfamiliar closed eyes. But, like a miracle, that little freckle was still situated right by his nose. That small brown dot was still there. And that was enough. It was Sam.

Dean felt like he could breathe a little easier if he just kept his eyes on that freckle. 

“He’s so much smaller than you.” John said suddenly, voice quiet, “Too small. I thought by now he’d grow some more.”

Dean crossed his arms, “He’s only fourteen, dad. He’ll still grow.”

John tilted his head, “I sure hope so. We can’t afford to take him on hunts when he's this little. Not when he doesn’t have the skill or focus to compensate.”

Dean scoffed and turned to glare at his father, “You’re really thinking about hunts right now?”

John didn’t spare him a glance. He tensed his jaw, “I’m always thinking about hunts.”

Dean rolled his eyes and turned to look at Sam again. Under his breath, he commented, “That’s healthy.”

John’s hand came down just this side of too hard on his shoulder blade as he scolded, “Knock it off with the attitude, kid.”

Dean just fixed his sweatshirt, brushing off the hit like it didn’t hurt half as much as it actually did. 

“Can we just… shut up, for the moment?” Dean asked, exasperated and exhausted, “Until Sam is better.”

John let out a long, audible breath. Dean skirted his glance up to his father and was stunned to see his eyes were watery. John was looking down at Sam and he looked…  _ sad _ . 

“Dad?” Dean asked, swallowing.

John cleared his throat and shifted his stance, “I’m going to go by the house.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, stunned, “What?”

John turned away from Sam and walked towards the door, “I need to meet with another officer to discuss the scene back at the barn. I’ll be back soon.”

Dean glared and pushed through clenched teeth, “When?”

John just sighed before walking out the door, closing it behind him. 

Dean wanted to scream. He clenched his hands so hard that his fingernails sliced cuts into his palms. Then he was slamming his fist down on the mattress beside Sam’s body. He was  _ immediately  _ horrified at his own thoughtless action.

“Oh God, I’m sorry, Sammy.” He muttered out, anger dissipating. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed out, “It’s not you I’m mad at.” 

Then he laughed, “God, get a look at me, talking to myself. You’da never let me hear the end of this.” 

He smiled to himself, though his eyes were wet and stinging with tears. He exhaled, “I’m totally kicking your ass for worrying me this much when you come to, little brother.” 

His heart sank when he was met with nothing but silence. He knew that Sam wouldn’t reply, but the reality of it was incredibly demoralizing. 

He sat down in the chair next to the bed finally and looked up again, eyes landing on the freckle. His true north. 


	3. Chapter 3

It was a grand total of three days after the worst night of Dean’s life when the Doctor finally eased Sam off of all the sedatives and pain meds. That had been two hours ago, now. Dean was exhausted, with bags under his eyes and an unpleasant smell coming off of him. He’d barely left this place since they brought Sammy in. Bobby was here now, but he was in and out with food and changes of clothes for Dean. John was another story. Dean saw him once a day if he was lucky, and it was always a brief visit. He couldn’t understand how his father was so okay being away from his unconscious, weak, ill child. He was starting to resent him for it. 

Especially in this moment. 

This beautiful, amazing, unlikely moment.

This tragic moment.

Seeing a flutter underneath pale eyelids. An uneven rise of the stomach. A twitch of the head and a furrow of the brow. 

“Sammy?” Dean asked upon seeing the changes in his brother, leaning forward in his seat, staring.

There was nothing but silence for a moment, but then once again, like a miracle, there was a flicker behind those eyelids.

“Come on, baby brother.” Dean cooed, reaching out to take Sam’s hand. He gave it a squeeze and urged, “Open those eyes for me.” 

A beat passed. Then another. 

Then on the third, two irises peeked out from underneath dark lashes and flicked around. Sam blinked several times before finally settling his gaze on Dean’s face. He breathed out slowly, audibly, and Dean couldn’t help but smile. 

“Hey, kiddo.” He greeted softly, feeling his stomach at ease for the first time in a week. Just seeing those eyes grounded him.

Sam opened his mouth and made a little gasping sound. His lips were chapped to all hell and his mouth looked like a freaking desert. Dean immediately got up and grabbed the water bottle and straw that the nurse left on the nightstand for Sam when he woke up. He uncapped the bottle and popped the straw in before walking back over to Sam.

“Need some water?” He asked as he raised the bottle in question. Sam nodded eagerly and brought a very shaky hand up to reach for the bottle. Dean shook his head and sighed, “Let me.”

Sam let his hand drop and allowed Dean to bring the bottle to his lips. Dean gently guided the straw into his mouth and then held it steady as Sam drank. He took very fast, long sips until half the bottle was empty. Dean pulled it away and Sam leaned after it.

“Take it easy, Sam.” Dean told him, gently pushing on his shoulder to get him to lie back down, “Take a break. Your stomach is probably all messed up. You’ve been out for a while.”

Sam sighed and let his head fall back against the pillow. He was still so pale. 

His eyes flicked over to his brother and he exhaled, voice strained, “De…”

Dean nodded as he sat back down and scooted the chair closer. He smiled tightly and squeezed Sam’s hand again, “Yeah, I’m here, kiddo. You’re okay.”

Sam squeezed his eyes closed and grimaced. When he opened them again, he looked around the room slowly. His gaze settled back on Dean and he asked quietly, “Dad?”

Dean felt his heart constrict and anger bubble inside of him. He just swallowed those feelings down for now. Sam didn’t need to worry about them. 

“Uncle Bobby is here.” He deflected, plastering on a fake smile, “He even said he’ll get you some of that nasty ice cream wannabe stuff you like so much.”

Sam scoffed and mumbled, “Sherbert, dumbass.”

Dean grinned wide and leaned back in his chair.

“Oh, would you look at that, my little bro is alive and well after all!” He beamed, feeling a sense of relief and happiness flood him. Those feelings had recently become foreign to him. It was nice to experience them again.

“Thought…” Sam coughed and winced. Dean rubbed his knuckles as he finished, “I was dead.”

Dean’s smile faded a bit as he answered, “No chance. Not when I’m watching your back. You aren’t dying anytime soon, Sammy.” 

San squinted up at him and mumbled, “Th’nks.”

The kid was slurring his words. And it looked like his eyes weighed about a hundred pounds each. Plus, he was still ghostly pale.

“Don’t mention it.” Dean dismissed before telling Sam more softly, reaching up to wipe the hair out of his face, “Now, go back to sleep. You look like shit.”

Sam closed his eyes and breathed out, “Feel like it.” 

Dean smirked a little, almost sadly. There was so much he wanted to say. But it could wait. It  _ needed  _ to wait. 

“Go to sleep, Sam.” He said gently, “I’ll be here the whole time.”

Sam’s lips parted slightly and he mumbled, “Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean ignored the fact that it was one o’clock in the afternoon and echoed, “Night, Sammy.”

He watched with unwavering concentration as Sam’s head lolled to the side and he fell back asleep. Once his breathing evened out, Dean felt himself tense up once again. The anger, guilt, and fear resurfaced. He clenched his teeth and rose from his chair, needing to stand up and move.

He was on his thirty-something round of pacing when the door squeaked. Dean whipped his head around, hoping it would be his dad. 

“Hey, kid.” 

Dean sighed and turned to look back at Sam, mumbling, “Not a kid anymore, Bobby. I’m almost eighteen.” 

Bobby huffed as he closed the door behind himself. There were two drinks in his hand; a coffee and a water bottle. He tossed the latter to Dean, who smoothly caught it in one hand.

“Thanks.” Dean muttered, setting it down on the floor by his chair and then leaning forward so his chin was resting on his hand.

Bobby sat down in the chair across from him and looked between the two boys. He smiled softly and tried to reassure, “He’ll recover, Dean. It just takes time.”

Dean sighed, rubbing his palm over his face, “I know.”

Bobby raised a brow and prompted, “Then what’s wrong?”

_ Everything _ , Dean thought. But that was too much to explain right now.

“He was awake a second ago.” He said instead, deflecting, “Only for, like, a minute. But still.”

Bobby raised his brows in surprise.

“That’s great.” He smiled a little, “Did he seem like he was in pain, or…?”

Dean thought back on it. Sure, there were winces and looks of discomfort every once in a while, but he didn’t seem to be writhing in pain. He was just… Sam.

“Nothing more than what we expected. He was mostly just exhausted.”

Bobby tilted his head, “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Dean looked down at his lap. He worried his lip between his teeth for a few seconds before finally breaking. His eyes stung as he admitted in a whisper, “I just can’t stop thinking about the fact that I put him in danger. We’re supposed to look out for each other, Bobby. I… I almost got him killed out there.”

Bobby waited for Dean to raise his gaze and look him in the eye before firmly combating, “It wasn’t your fault. You wanna blame someone, blame the damn vamp that gutted him.” 

Dean shook his head and denied, “It’s my job to protect him.” 

Bobby crossed his arms and raised his voice a bit, “You do! Who was the one that kept the kid from bleeding out, Dean? That was you. You do look after him, always have. It’s not fair that you have that burden on you with the way hunters live. But you do a damn good job of it.” 

“A good job?!” Dean shouted, almost laughing in shock and disbelief, “He almost died!”

Bobby stood his ground. He fought right back, “Dean, you cannot protect him every time. As much as you want to, you just can’t. Even if he wasn’t a hunter, he’s a thirteen year old kid. ’Practically glued to trouble. You were, too, when you were that age.” Then he leaned forward and leveraged, “What’s important is that he is alive and he will recover. You made that possible. You did good, son.” 

Dean just pinched his lips and looked over to his little brother. So small and fragile.

“It’s just hard to feel that way when I keep looking at him like this.” He whispered, “He’s so weak.”

Bobby tisked at him and raised his voice a little, “Now, you of all people know that Sam is anything but weak. He’s hurt right now, but you and I both know he’ll bounce back. For all the crap we give him, he’s a damn special kid.”

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, admitting softly, “I know.” 

“So what, then?” Bobby pushed, “What’s crawling around in that head of yours?” 

_ Knock, knock _ .

_ Saved by the bell _ , Dean thought. Both men in the room turned to look at the door, which was slowly opening to reveal a very worn looking John Winchester. Bobby immediately straightened out.

“Now, where the hell have you been?” He asked. Dean raised his eyebrows at the amount of venom in his voice. 

John scratched the back of his head as he walked in, closing the door behind him. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms, eyes going to Sam once before quickly diverting back to Bobby and Dean. 

“I had some business to take care of.” He answered, incredibly vague and ominous.

Bobby stiffened.

“Now what in the sam-hell is more important than being here with your son?” He asked angrily, “Dean said he woke up a few minutes ago. And you weren’t there, Johnny.” 

John’s eyes widened and he fixed his gaze on Dean. He asked stoically, “Is that true?”

Dean clenched his jaw and looked down, “Yeah, it’s true. He asked for you, too. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him you weren’t there. Luckily he was too out of it to care.”

“Next time won’t be so lucky.” Bobby added, glaring daggers at John.

John took an aggressive step forward and pointed a dangerous finger at Bobby, “You don’t tell me how to parent my kid!” 

Then he turned to look at Dean and barked, “And you should be damn lucky that Sam is even alive right now! He got hurt on  _ your  _ watch! Don’t throw blame at me, Dean Winchester!” 

Dean recoiled like he’d been shot. A few days ago, John was saying it wasn’t Dean’s fault. And now he’s changing his mind? Anger, ego, and guilt could do incredible things to people. Dean crumpled in his chair, shoulders sinking and lump forming in his throat. He didn’t have the voice to speak, and even if he did, he didn’t have anything to say. John had just dug his nails into the deepest wound Dean had.

“Don’t take your guilt and put it on him!” Bobby stood up, approaching John with anger radiating off of him, “He saved your boy’s life!” 

John puffed his chest and scowled, “Bobby you better stay the hell out of-”

“Guys?” A small, nasally voice cut off John and all three men turned to look at the little boy resting on the hospital bed. 

His eyes were open, however dark the bags underneath them were, and there was a deep frown on his face. Dean noticed that he looked more awake and aware this time than the previous time he woke. Great. Perfect timing, little brother. Dean sighed. 

“Hey, kiddo.” John’s voice was the stark opposite of what it was before; it was soft and welcoming. Dean shivered at his father’s ability to pretend like the whole confrontation never happened. 

“Dad?” Sam questioned, reaching a shaky hand up to rub at his eyes. He hissed as the movement pulled on the stitches in his abdomen. 

“Hey, Sammy.” John smiled softly as he approached his son. He looked down at him and asked, “Doesn’t hurt too bad, right?”

Dean scoffed at the way he worded that question. He was practically daring Sam to admit that he was in pain. 

Sam lowered his hand slowly and cleared his throat, shaking his head minutely, “Bar’ly a scratch.” 

John smiled wider and clapped a hand down on Sam’s shoulder- not as firmly as he normally would, but still not gentle by any means- and beamed, “That’s my boy.”

Dean locked his jaw. How sick was his family that being able to dismiss pain was something to be proud of? 

“How are you feeling, sport?” Bobby chimed in, a much more genuine concern in his voice. 

Sam tilted his head to look over at Bobby and smiled a tiny bit, no teeth showing. He said softly, almost resigned, “I’m ok.” 

Then he looked down at his body and blinked a few times. He let out a long breath and squinted up at the men all staring down at him. He then asked quietly, “What happened?”

John turned around and pointedly looked at Dean as he crossed his arms. Not subtle. 

Dean ignored his father’s icy stare and focused on Sam, who made weak eye contact with him and smiled a little bit in encouragement. 

“We were on a vamp hunt in Foxborough, remember?” He watched Sam’s face and saw the moment something changed. His brother’s smile entirely fell and his shoulders tensed. Dean kept going, “Dad went in the front, you and me went in the back. We were outnumbered and one of them got you in the gut with a knife. It was pretty touch and go for a while.” He got slightly choked up, so he cleared his throat to push the emotions away before finishing, “But you’re okay now.”

John turned to look at Sam and shook his head, “What happened to being backup only?”

Sam rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Yeah, sure, send Dean in there alone to fight off six vamps.” 

Dean secretly loved hearing Sam admit that he was worried about him. It was adorable. His geeky thirteen year old brother worried about  _ him _ \- the seventeen year old badass. 

“I can take care of myself, Sammy.” He smiled slightly, probably being a little patronizing. 

Sam’s expression remained flat. He just looked down at his lap and mumbled, “But I can’t.” 

Dean scrunched his eyebrows together and leaned forward, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Sam dismissed in a frustrated sigh. 

Dean didn’t like this. Sam was acting exactly how he had before this whole hunt went down- withdrawn, dejected, frustrated. 

“Hey guys?” He looked up at Bobby and John, “Can we get the room for a minute?”

John looked like he was about to protest, but Bobby grabbed him by the arm and practically dragged him out of the room. Dean waited until he heard the footsteps grow quieter outside the door to walk over to Sam’s bed and sit on the end.

“What, Dean?” Sam sighed, both looking and sounding exhausted.

Dean locked his jaw and took a breath before bringing his gaze to Sam’s and speaking softly, “What’s up with you, Sam? Even before you got hurt, you were acting different. More focused on the hunt, quieter, less… I don’t know… less like Sam.”

Sam just shrugged.

“Come on.” Dean pushed, “Something’s wrong. I know you.” 

Sam leaned further back into the pillows. He said like it was obvious, “Nothing is wrong now. It was wrong before. Now, I’m trying to make it right.” 

Dean furrowed his brows and pulled a confused face, “What the hell does  _ that _ mean?”

Sam shrugged again, “Doesn’t matter.”

Dean was on the verge of  _ exploding _ at his little brother. He grit his teeth, “Sam.”

His little brother sighed and made dead eye contact before speaking, “Look, you and dad are two peas in a pod. You’re always the example, the no-problem-child, the one he relies on. He always tells me how much better off I’d be if I acted more like you. Every little thing I had that made me special… he crushed. It became fuel for disappointment. At first I thought he just hated me because we were such different people, but then I realized something. I realized that dad never hated me because I was Sam, he hated me because I wasn’t  _ you _ .”

“Dad never hated you.” Dean cut in through clenched teeth and a broken heart when Sam paused for a moment. His vision was growing blurry and his blood was boiling. 

“At first I wanted to fight it. But man… I’m so fucking tired of fighting.” Sam continued undeterred, and Dean actually flinched at the swear that fell from his lips. Sammy didn’t swear unless he was at his complete wit’s end, “I’m so tired of being picked on and outnumbered. I don’t want to be the disappointment anymore. It’s better for everyone if I just act more like you.” 

That was it.

“Sam, you are not a disappointment!” Dean exploded, vision going red as he fumed, “I don’t even know where to start with this because you are so fucking wrong!”

Sam just turned his head away from Dean, like the words meant nothing. 

“Hey!” Dean yelled, temper reaching new heights. He got up and grabbed Sam’s chin, twisting it around gently and forcing his brother to look at him, “Dad never hated you! He loves you! That’s why he is so hard on you, Sam, he doesn’t want to lose you! He and I are both terrified of _losing_ you!” 

And that’s when Dean realized something. Why his father was never here. It hit him like a ton of bricks and his voice cracked when he announced it to Sam, “Dad could barely walk in this room before you woke up because he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt! I’ve been pacing so hard that the goddamn floor is going to cave in soon!” 

Sam shook his head and insisted in a small voice, “Being scared to lose me isn’t the same as loving me or respecting me.” And then he burst, raising his voice, “How on earth were you going to lose me by letting me play in a soccer game but not by going on a hunt?! If I had stayed back in Evansville to play soccer I wouldn’t be in the hospital right now!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Dean backed away from Sam and threw his hands in the air, gesturing wildly, “Goddamnit Sam, the guilt is eating me alive!” 

Sam was probably getting too worked up for his own good right now, but Dean was too angry and upset to address that right now. His little brother yelled, “Well then why didn’t you stand up for me before! You never take my side! You never stand up for me. Anytime it comes down between him or me, you choose him! You think I don’t see that?” 

“Sam, I would pick you in a second! Don’t  _ ever _ think that you don’t come first to me. You always have and always will.” He said that part with finality. Then, after a moment, he added softly, “But, dad’s a mess. The two of us? We’re all he has left. I can’t just side with you because then he’s all alone. Nobody deserves that. Nobody deserves to be ganged up on and alienated like that.”

Sam scoffed and shifted in the bee, sitting up more, “Don’t you see the irony in that?” He coughed, body shaking, “You so badly don’t want to leave dad alone, or gang up on him, that you don’t even realize that that’s  _ exactly _ what you’ve been doing to me!” With that explanation, he let out a gasp in pain.

“Sam!” Dean yelled, grabbing his shoulders and squeezing, “Calm down!”

His baby brother looked up at him, then down, and when his eyes landed on the pooling puddle of blood soaking the mattress, he collapsed forward into Dean,

“Shit!” Dean yelled when he followed Sam’s gaze to the blood, “Nurse!”

He gently lowered Sam back down, mumbling, “Okay, come on, settle down.”

Two nurses with serious expressions came trotting in. Immediately, the one on the left asked urgently, “What’s wrong?” 

Dean was flustered and shocked. He stuttered through his answer, “I think he ripped open his stitches or something, he’s bleeding!”

The nurse closer to Dean was suddenly pushing at him, announcing, “Okay, you need to leave the room for now.”

“No!” Dean shouted and shoved her hands off of him. He wasn’t leaving Sammy.

The other nurse glared at him and shouted louder than the one prior, “Young man, get out!” 

Dean still wouldn’t go until he was pushed out the door. He stumbled into the waiting room, feeling his body shake and his heart pound. 

“Dean? What happened?!” Bobby’s voice called and Dean turned to see both his uncle and his father sitting in plastic chairs across from Sam’s room.

“It’s Sam.” He whispered, still processing. He rubbed a palm over his face and mumbled, “He got all worked up and ended up pulling his stitches. He started bleeding everywhere.”

“Okay.” Bobby sighed in sympathy as he rose from his chair and walked towards Dean with open arms, “Come here, kid.”

Dean allowed himself to be hugged, though he didn’t reciprocate the gesture at all. He simply stared off into space and thought about all the things Sam had said in their argument.

“Why was he worked up?” John asked impatiently.

Dean scoffed at his tone of voice as he backed away from Bobby. He took a step closer to his father and tilted his head, voice shaky as he admitted, “We screwed up, dad. We really,  _ really  _ screwed up.” 

John furrowed his eyebrows, “What do you mean?” 

“He thinks you hate him.” Dean answered immediately, looking down at his shoes, “He thinks  _ we  _ see him as a disappointment. He thinks…” He turned away and mumbled, “God, how could I be so  _ stupid?! _ ” 

“He’s being dramatic, Dean.” John said- so sure of himself- as he stepped closer to his son, “He’ll come around soon. Don’t let it get to you.”

“Don’t you see that’s exactly our problem?” Dean shouted as he rounded on his father, eyes crazed and heart pounding, “We keep forcing our agendas onto him so hard that we can’t see he’s fucking destroying himself right in front of our eyes! The Sam I saw in there wasn’t looking for attention, dad. He was  _ defeated _ and  _ accepting _ !”

John looked down and said lowly, “I’ll talk to him about it when he’s better.”

Dean shook his head, “You can’t wait on this, dad. We are driving him so far away that we might not be able to get him back. We’re killing everything that makes him Sam.” 

“Stop it!” John finally snapped, looking at Dean with fire in his eyes, “I am not killing my child! I am keeping him safe.” 

“We can keep him safe without making him feel like an outsider and a disappointment!” Dean fired right back, “We both need to change!” 

John visibly fumed. He took a few moments before turning to look at Bobby and commenting, “You’re uncharacteristically quiet.” 

Bobby shrugged, “I think everything that needs to be said has been said. That kid had been trying to get you to notice him for years, now. I think it’s about damn time you actually did.” 

John’s shoulders stiffened, but before he could respond a nurse was walking towards them, softly calling out, “Sam Winchester?” 

John surged forward, “I’m his father. Is he okay?”

The short, latina nurse nodded and smiled gently, “He’ll be fine. He ripped open four of his stitches, but we were able to fix the damage with no problems. Just make sure he rests. At least a week, no sudden or jarring motions, no bending down, no reaching up, no stretching. He needs to keep that abdomen as flat and rested as possible. Understood?”

“Yes.” Dean answered for all of them before asking, “Can we see him?” 

He and his brother had unfinished business.

“Of course.” Nurse -Marjorie, her name tag read- told them, “You know where the call button is if he should need anything.”

“Thank you.” John answered. They followed her into the room and only when the nurse left and they were able to get a full look at Sammy did hey realize he was fast asleep.

Dean sighed as he fell into one of the chairs, “They must’ve given him more pain medication.” 

John mumbled, “Figures.” 

“Looks like we’re in for the long haul, boys.” Bobby added as they all sat down and got comfortable.

————

Dean was the only one who couldn’t seem to fall asleep. At first it frustrated the hell out of him because it meant being alone with his thoughts. But then… Then, when Sammy stirred around 2:00am in the morning… Dean was glad it was only him.

“Sammy?” He whispered, getting up and moving closer so that he could see him up close.

Those eyes blinked open and flicked around for a moment before finally settling on Dean. His lips were in a tight frown and his cheeks were flushed. 

“Hey.” Dean whispered, wanting to jump right back into their prior argument and convince Sam that he was  _ not  _ a disappointment and that he was  _ so, so  _ wanted, but also knowing that his little brother  _ just  _ woke up.

Sam breathed out slowly and hiccuped a little, “You still mad?”

Dean raised a brow and frowned. He leaned forward, “I was never mad, Sammy. I’m just… sad.”

Sam furrowed his brows, “What?”

“Yeah, man.” Dean reached back and scratched at the back of his neck, “It makes me really freaking sad that you were thinking dad and I were disappointed in you. Or that we didn’t love or respect you. I need you to believe me when I say that that couldn’t be farther from the truth.” 

Sam just looked down, eyes watery. 

“Sammy,” Dean sighed, reaching out and gently squeezing his shoulder, “You are the most important thing in the world to both of us. I don’t want another me running around, I’ll lose my mind. So will dad. You’re special, Sammy. Smart. Skilled. We need you just the way you are.” 

Sam opened his mouth the speak, but then John was cutting in, voice sleep-clouded and gritty, “He’s right, son.”

And then John looked down and cleared his throat before saying, genuinely as the man could muster, “I’m very sorry we made you feel otherwise.” 

Sam looked  _ stunned _ . His eyes were bugging out of his head and his jaw was slack, lips parted. 

He stuttered over the words, “But, you said that-”

“I was wrong.” John interrupted. Beside him, Bobby started stirring, “I am hard on you, Sam. I know that. But, it’s because this…” He made a halfhearted gesture to the hospital room, “scares the hell out of me.” 

Sam blinked a few times in disbelief, “You’re really okay with me being Sam?” 

And yeah… John Winchester definitely did have a heart, because he could feel it  _ shatter  _ at that comment. He practically leapt out of his chair and came forward. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead before backing away and whispering, “Wouldn’t want you any other way.” 

Sam’s eyes welled up and he turned to look at Dean, as if for reassurance. Dean just smiled tightly at him and reached out to squeeze his hand. They didn’t need words. 

They both knew, with that one simple gesture, that everything was going to be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3
> 
> Xoxo


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